150. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
A erie
My eyes fly open as I awaken, completely disoriented. I soon realize I’m in the pod with Beast, nestled with my back to his front. His heavy arm is slung across my waist. I’m smashed against the curved outer wall of the ship.
Using my patented ‘flip’ move, I turn in his arms without waking him. I could look at that beautiful, strange, alien face for the next fifty years and never tire of it. My eyes are captured by the interesting rings that bind his nose. The tip of my tongue sneaks between my lips, as if waiting for the sound of a starter pistol.
I’m probably imagining it, but I think I can still taste the earthy tang of his come from last night. Perhaps he’ll wake up tasting me as well. He promised we’d ‘play’ on this trip. That we did.
My wrist-comm lights up, alerting me of a comm from Plenum. The asshole is checking that I’m on my way. I’ll respond later.
Maybe it was the muted buzz of my comm that woke him, but when I glance over, Beast is looking at me. His face looks softer than I’ve ever seen it, and his eyes have a warm glow.
“What should we do today?” he asks. “I hear mronck -back riding is fun this time of year.”
“Mmm, sounds delightful. First, let me whip you up something from my gourmet kitchen. Let’s see . . . we’ll start with pancakes and sausages, and I could make us pineapple-mango smoothies. Sound good?”
“I don’t know. I have a craving for a nutrition bar.”
“Breakfast in bed?” I ask.
He leans over and rummages under the bed for a couple bars, giving me the opportunity to sneak a peek at that fine gladiator ass of his. There’s certainly something to be said for working out ten hours a day.
My eyes inspect his back from this angle. I can see the scars, they’re a dark emerald against his lighter jade. The metallic shine is duller. I must have noticed them before and just thought they were part of his coloration.
Now that I know what they are, I feel a knot of anger coil in my belly. In the past I’ve certainly known hate. It started with some of Mom’s boyfriends and didn’t end until I ran away from my last foster placement. But I’ve never before felt it on behalf of someone else.
I hate Beast’s mistress. After the story he told me, I’d kill her if she was standing here.
“Do you want the one with fake berries?” he asks with a smile as he holds up two bars, “or the synthetic citrus one?”
“So little time, so many choices. You pick.”
“I think the berries taste better,” he says as he tosses it to me. “I’ll take the citrus.”
“Ever the gentlemale.” I unwrap it and after one horrid bite, I wolf it down without tasting. I’ve had worse, although I can’t recall when.
He leans over, the smell of citrus on his breath, and kisses my forehead. After rolling out of bed, he hits the floor and starts exercising.
I’ve never been that girl. Unless I’m under a time crunch, I like to lie in bed for at least a few minutes, then mosey to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I’m a workaholic, no doubt about it, but I do require a cup of joe to start my engine.
Not the Beast of Tramachor. I sit up and sling my legs over the edge of the bed to get a better look. He’s already in the middle of a set of pushups, I have no idea how many he’s done. I think the most I’ve ever done was ten, and that was under the threat of punishment. And they were girl’s pushups.
Now he begins one-handed pushups. One hundred on each side. I’m already far past awe-territory when he repositions himself, his toes on the bed frame next to me, and begins a set from this new, harder angle.
Seriously? One hundred of these?
It’s only now that I hear his breathing quicken and see a thin sheen of sweat on his shimmering green skin.
I watch as he continues his routine, which seems endless. Situps, kicks from an all fours position, kicks while standing, body-lifts from a crab position with one leg in the air, his repertoire is endless. And I get to watch as I’m treated to seeing that beautiful body activating every muscle group.
And he’s naked. Dahlia warned me these guys are more at home nude than clothed. Beast certainly doesn’t seem shy about letting everything hang out. Me? I’ve already found my t-shirt, which was tossed to the foot of the bed in a frenzy last night, and pulled it over my head. Locating my panties, though, will take a more concerted effort.
I must have been watching, mesmerized, for at least an hour when he stands, breathing heavily but in no way could it be called panting, and smiles at me. As he grabs a washcloth, moistens it, and wipes off, he asks, “Want me to show you a routine?”
Heinous! Talk about abrupt. One moment I’m basking in the visual nirvana that is Beast exercising nude, and the next I’m unceremoniously shoved into hell. He wants me to what? Exercise?
“Kind of you to offer, but no. The most exercise I intend to do—ever—is walk on my expensive stilts. I’ll understand if this is deal-breaker. But the answer is ‘not no but hell no’.”
“You don’t . . .” he pauses, his head slightly tilted—genuinely amazed, “ want to exercise?”
“Is there a food you really hate?” is my answer.
“ Dremanga ,” he says with obvious distaste.
“Exercise is like dremanga to me. You actually enjoy it?”
“It makes me feel good. Almost as good as dracking .” His eyebrow lifts in interest.
“Speaking of which, we agreed—at your suggestion I might add—that there would be no dracking on this trip.”
“Right. But there will be playing. I have many creative ideas.”
“I have a feeling I’ll love your creative ideas.”
And now we’re just staring at each other. Smiling and mooning like two teenagers. I don’t know what he sees from his end, but through my eyes he looks adorable, and good enough to eat.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see something flash outside the window. I have no frame-of-reference for what I see. Hundreds or thousands of massive objects are bearing down on us.
“Belt!” Beast yells as he slides into the chair.
I pile on top of him and he has us strapped in within a second.
“Ah!” I can’t help but yell as one of the things, I’ll call it a meteor, comes barreling at us so fast and so close I’m certain we’ll be crushed. It whizzes by, much to my relief.
“Do you know what’s happening?” I ask.
“The first time I was able to look out the window of a spaceship was only a few days ago. I have no idea, but I think we’re going to die.”
I want to scold him, to tell him not to say that again, but he’s a straight talker—and he’s right.
The meteors are rushing at us nonstop. Some look like they’re going to collide with us, but when they pass it’s obvious they’re miles away—maybe thousands of miles away. Distance loses its perspective in the darkness of space. Then others come so close it’s a miracle they don’t bash into us and blast us to bits.
Beast’s arms are around my waist as he crushes me against his chest.
“I wish I knew how to pilot this thing,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m useless.”
“As am I.”
What were we thinking? Climbing into this tiny ten by ten ball of metal and glass and trusting in Braxxus’s coordinates to fly us to another planet? Did any of us take even a moment to think this through?
Putting two civilians in this sphere, pushing a button, and hoping fifty hours later it would land exactly where it was supposed to? No thought to pirates, or mechanical failure, or meteors for fuck’s sake?
He pushes the button to comm Braxxus, just as we were instructed. All we hear is fuzz. After trying ten more times, he gives up. Perhaps the meteor storm has interfered with the electronics, or maybe the equipment never worked properly in the first place.
“Beast? If those meteors don’t kill us, I’m going to die of a heart attack. Every time one comes close, I think my heart is going to seize. Can we swivel to look the other way?”
He hesitates a moment, then turns us around. Perhaps he had to think for one more moment to realize there’s nothing either of us can do whether we’re looking at our approaching doom or oblivious to it.
I relax immediately. Not seeing your impending death rushing at you faster than the speed of light is a relief.
We’re silent a moment, both of us allowing our racing hearts to stand down. Then I feel his lips on the top of my head.
“You’ve been a surprise, Aerie. I didn’t expect to find . . .” he pauses as if he’s searching for the right word, then our little craft shudders.
He swivels us back to look out the window. I’ve closed my eyes, but peek out, like a child at a scary movie. Ridiculous, I know. Finally, I pry my eyes open, but I see nothing.
Beast turns us to face the rear again.
“I think one of those things came so close the draft shook us.”
Close. Close enough to knock us off course. Even if we actually live through this—survive flying through a minefield of hurtling rocks each half as big as a planet—now we’re off course. Great.
I don’t say anything. If he hasn’t worried about this yet, far be it from me to put one new fear into his head.
I don’t want to think about any of this anymore. My heart is still racing, I’m sweating—I can feel it beading on my upper lip and moistening my armpits. I understand the ostrich now. Just stick your head in the sand and whistle a happy tune and ignore reality. Frankly, it’s the best strategy I have at my disposal.
What’s that saying? ‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change?’ Okay, I admit it. I’m powerless. Might as well change the subject.
“I didn't expect this either, Beast.” I don’t have the courage to name it, but I can dance around the subject a bit more. “I never expected to be kidnapped by aliens, or to fly among the stars, or to meet a handsome green gladiator who turned out to be a surprisingly kind male.”
Okay. I’ve said enough.
“Mmm,” is his response. Except he hugs me tighter and then pets me wherever he can reach. My shoulder, my thigh, my hair. I like that the best—it’s soothing.
Finally, he cups his hand over my eyes and swivels us back to face the windows.
“I think it’s slowing,” he says. “Do you want to look?”
“Yeah.”
When he pulls his hand away, I have to agree. We’re not being bombarded as fast and as furious as we had been.
“I have no idea what this is, but I wonder if somehow we transected the tail end of a meteor shower,” I say.
The damn things are still whizzing by, but they’re not as numerous or dense as they had been.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“No, but I think this scared the crap out of me. I’m going to go behind curtain number one and you are not going to sing or make up songs or mention any smells or noises—either good or bad. Got it?”
“I’m not allowed to say your shit smells like a bouquet of flowers? Or that your little grunts remind me of the melodic songs of my favorite leela birds? Got it.”
As he unbuckles us and I stand on wobbly feet for a moment, I say, “What an unlikely time for the fearsome Beast of Tramachor to unveil his biting sense of humor.”
Five minutes later, I emerge from the cone of silence with my dignity in shreds. Beast had the opportunity to hear many leela bird songs during that time, and I can only assume that it smells like enough bouquets of flowers for a funeral. Luckily, I’ll go to my grave not knowing, because he’s good to his word and his perfect pale peach lips are sealed.
“Nicely played,” I tell him as I sit back on his lap to get buckled in.
“I’ve been told I have a swift learning curve.”
We spend the next several hours looking out the window, remarking to each other that the passing deathballs are becoming much less frequent.
“If we get hit, being buckled into this chair isn’t going to save us, you know,” I tell Beast solemnly.
“I wondered when you’d figure that out, but I didn’t want to mention it,” he admits.
“Almost dying a hundred times has made me sleepy. Care to join me?”
“Good idea.”
Perhaps he’s thinking, like I am, that if we have to die, it would be best to die in our sleep.
Amazingly, I’ve been sitting on his lap for hours and barely noticed he was naked as a jaybird. Nor did either of us mention that I’ve been running around sans panties. Now that we’re horizontal, however, those facts rise to the forefront of my mind. By the tent he’s making under the covers, it seems obvious it’s on top of both of our minds.
Perhaps having a front-row seat to your own impending death has that effect on people—kind of a grab-life-by-the-balls reaction. I’d rather just cuddle, though. There’s something so soothing about burrowing next to his warm jade skin.
Miraculously, I sleep. Maybe it was adrenaline fatigue. There are only so many minutes in a row your body can pump you full of fight-or-flight hormones before it can’t function properly anymore.
When I wake, Beast’s emerald eyes are looking at me. He has a tender look on his face. At first, I try to assess it, then I decide to ignore it and think about it later.
“Did I miss anything exciting?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Uh, is that a trick question?” I ask, my shoulders slumping.
“No.”
“Bad news?” Seriously? What could be worse than what we just lived through?
“We lived through it, but big meteors came so close to us twice that the pod seemed to careen off course. I was surprised it didn’t wake you. You sleep like the dead.”
His eyebrows raise almost imperceptibly at that last word. He realized too late it’s not a good day to mention that.
“The good news is they are farther away now. I think the worst is over.”
I lean over him to gaze out the window. He’s right. Somehow it seems the meteors have moved on.
“Plenum commed me early today. I got distracted. He wants to know when I’ll arrive. I should have responded immediately. I don’t want him to sell you to someone else.”
“Tell him our original ETA,” Beast says. “I don’t know if we’re off course or not. But don’t let him know we’ve had problems.”
“Rules of negotiation 101,” I say, “never let them know your weakness.”
It takes several tries for my wrist-comm to connect to planet Trent, but my comm finally goes through.
Will arrive in thirty hours. I have gold in hand.
Short and sweet. No need to elaborate.
Beast
“I’m starving,” I say. I’ve experienced this before. Sometimes after a brush with death in the arena, all I want to do is feed my face. Perhaps it’s a response to terror. All I know is I want to eat everything on board.
I grab what’s left of the bake-a-cake, cut it, and offer Aerie her half.
“You have it.”
I don’t argue, I just inhale it, then grab two bars and consume them as fast as I can. I ate the dessert in two big hunks, so I have to wash my hands. Afterward, I crawl into bed with Aerie and offer her a bar as consolation. She nibbles it until it’s gone.
I lean back against the wall at the head of the bed, my palms on the back of my head. Aerie joins me, settling her head on my pec.
“Tell me about the closet,” my tone is warm.
“Shit. I hoped you forgot.”
“Not a chance. Nor is there a chance you forgot the question you have of me.”
“You’re right.”
She takes a deep breath and sits up straight, trying to get comfortable. After another loud, long breath, she nestles against me in the same position she started.
“I never knew my dad; he split before I was born. My mom was a junkie, she—”
“I don’t think that translated correctly.”
“My mom was addicted to illegal drugs. She was high all the time. On Earth, sometimes the authorities remove a child and put them in a safe home for a time. I don’t remember it, but I’m told that happened a few times.
“When I was five, I was back with my mom when she overdosed and died. I didn’t see her die, but I walked in on her hours later to ask her for food because there was nothing in the kitchen.
“She didn’t move and smelled terrible. There was vomit on her lips and the bed. I . . .”
She pauses for a minima , maybe longer.
“It’s okay, Aerie, forget I asked. I don’t need to know. The last thing I want is for you to relive this.” I bend to kiss the top of her head. All her spikes disappeared during sleep, her hair is soft and lays flat on her head. I like the feel of it.
She presses a kiss to my chest, then says, “No. I want to tell you.”
After more kisses, perhaps less about her feelings for me and more to give herself time to prepare, she says, “I ran for help and was scooped up by the authorities and placed in another home.
“People take kids in for money. Some families actually are good and love kids and treat them well. I had two of those, but by the time they placed me with them I was so damaged I was hard to live with and got sent away after only a month or two.
“The homes where I wasn’t treated well . . . were hell. I was hit and called names and not protected. There were sexual things. I’ll never tell you about that, Beast. You can imagine whatever you want—you won’t be wrong.
“Mr. Ochsner was the worst at physical torture. He put a bar of soap in a sock and hit me with it. That was to reduce the bruising. When he got really mad at me, he’d lock me in a little closet. Sometimes he’d feed me, sometimes not.
“One time I don’t know what happened. Maybe he forgot me. He left me there for a long time. The best I could figure was three days.”
I can’t bear to hear this. I’ve lived a hard life, but picturing these things happening to little Aerie makes my heart squeeze in compassion for her. I don’t interrupt, though. Telling me in one breath will be hard enough.
“That’s where I got my name,” her tone is brighter. “My mom named me Angel. It never described me very well. When you grow up like I did, you don’t act very angelic. Before I went to college I spent the money to have my name officially changed.
“It happened that Mr. Ochsner threw me in that closet on the day we’d watched a movie in science class about eagles. I’d watched those majestic birds gliding on wind currents for the better part of an hour.
“For three days, when I wasn’t planning ways to come back and kill him when I was a grown-up, I visualized I was an eagle. For long hours I would imagine I was high in the sky, sailing, and swooping and free. On Earth there’s a saying, ‘free as a bird’. I was. Even in that closet, that asshole couldn’t take my imagination away from me. I soared.
“Eagles’ nests are called aeries. When I learned it, I thought it was the coolest word in the world. When it was time to change my name, I decided Aerie fit me to a T—a place, high above everything, to safely rest. I was creating that for myself until they abducted me.
“So, that’s my closet story.”
I feel her shrug.
I’m learning who this female is. Somehow I know she doesn’t want me to tell her I’m sorry those things happened to her.
“If you weren’t so tiny, Aerie,” I say her name with new appreciation now. It’s perfect for her. “If you weren’t so small and if you didn’t hate exercising as much as I hate dremanga , you’d make a magnificent gladiator. You have the spirit of a warrior.”
She turns on her side so she can look at me. It’s good she doesn’t feel the need to hide from me anymore.
“Really?” She accepted my praise without doubting it.
“A warrior.” I nod. “If you ever change your name again, it should be a warrior’s name.”
“I can’t think of a good one. Beast is already taken.”
“Beast. You want to be called Beast?” I laugh as I look at this beautiful, blonde female who barely reaches my nipple. “You’re no Beast, you’re a beauty.”
“Beauty and the Beast,” she says as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. Someday she’ll have to let me in on her little joke.
I turn on my side so we’re facing each other, then slide my fingers through the short, soft blonde stubble on her head.
“Time for me to tell you about Emmannee?”
“I’m ready if you are. You can wait. After our near-death experience, it doesn’t seem so important anymore.”
I decide to launch into it. It’s been between us like any ugly, living thing since that first night in her room. I want to get it out in the open.
“Other than with our hands—and with other males if we have that inclination—gladiators only have sex at their master’s whim. I earned the chance to couple when I won in the arena. The females were never the same and always came from town. They were prostitutes, bought and paid for, never slaves of the household. Until a few lunars before I was sold.
“Emmannee was the only female house slave my master ever gave me. Usually, we’re allowed half an houra , which is enough time to get the job done, but he let Emmannee stay longer. I’d assumed he wanted me to get her pregnant. It’s not unusual to use gladiators as breeding stock, and a Pinnacle would produce fine young.”
Her eyes slid from mine the moment I mentioned Emmannee’s name. I can’t read her expression.
“Want me to stop?”
“No,” her voice sounds hollow.
“After a month of regular visits, I knew for certain he wanted me to breed her, because he gave her to me once a week, even when I’d done nothing to earn it. With that amount of time alone together, we talked.
“I’d never had many opportunities to speak with a female. Household slaves were kept from the fighting stock unless mingling was absolutely necessary. I found her fascinating. She was so different from the males I’d spent my life with. She didn’t fart and curse like a male. Her curves were soft, I . . . are you certain you don’t want me to stop?”
“Keep going.”
“One night she looked into my eyes and told me she loved me. I said it back. I’d never had tender feelings for anyone before. Not since little Larana who broke that vase.
“A few nights later, when Master sent her to me she was crying. She told me that in a few days she was to be sold to another house. I’d never see her again.
“I came up with a plan. You see, two annums prior, Master had offered me the opportunity to buy my own freedom. He said he’d put one percent of my winnings into an account to keep it safe for me. When that account was as large as my worth, I could give him the money and be a free male.
“I told Emmannee I’d use that money to pay for her. She could be a free female and wait for me. I’d keep fighting until I could pay Master for my freedom and then we’d reunite. I envisioned a cottage on the far side of the nearby forest. I even saw younglings in our future if we were compatible that way. She seemed so relieved, so happy.”
“I think I saw this in a movie once,” Aerie says, her tone flat. “It’s not going to end well, is it?”
“No. The next day I spoke with my master. He waved accounting numbers in front of me, told me I had just enough to buy her, and marked a big, fat zero at the bottom of the ledger. It would take me annums to accrue that many credits again, but I was happy to do it to give Emmannee her freedom.
“She promised to visit once a week. I—”
“Let me guess. You never saw her again.”
I nod.
It seems obvious now. Aerie figured it out in a minima .
“I’m an idiot.”
“Oh, no, Beast.” She leans on her elbow and looks into my eyes. “She played you well. They both did.”
“Both?”
“Oh, Babe,” she presses her palm to my cheek so sweetly. “It sounds like a textbook con to me. All of a sudden he decides to give you more time with a woman. Not only that, but she’s the first house slave he’s allowed into the gladiator barracks. She just happens to be worth exactly, to the penny, the amount in your account? All of it was bullshit from the start. Did that translate? The motherfucker played you, Beast.”
Rubbing my hand up and down over my jaw, my mind flies through the equation she just laid out for me. Were they both in on it?
“So why did he offer the one percent in the first place. He’d never done that before?” she asks.
“No, he started maybe two annums before. It was when. . .” I am an idiot. It’s all so clear now. “It was when there were slave rebellions on the far side of the planet.” I groan. Why didn’t I see this sooner?
“So he offers you—did he offer it to the others, too?”
I nod.
“All of a sudden he gives his gladiators hope and a chance to legally buy their freedom so they don’t feel the need to revolt. Then he realizes he just might have to make good on his offer even though he’s been vastly underpaying you, so he figures a way out of it. He determines a way to zero out all your accounts, keep you slaving away until you die in the arena, all while keeping himself and his family safe from you big, bad gladiators turning on him in the middle of the night. He’s a smart asshole, I’ll give him that.”
“And we’re going to pay him a million credits tomorrow so I’m legally free.”
“The other guys, did they all of a sudden earn more time with pretty women?”
“Yes. And you don’t have to ask, several of them bought their females the same day I did. I guess all the females professed their undying love on the same night.” I may not have a lot of schooling, but I’m a smart male. You can’t consistently win in the arena just on brawn, you have to have brains, too. I don’t feel very smart right now.
“Do you . . . do you love her? Still?”
I pull the little Earther on top of me, surround her waist with my arms, and crush her to me. Then I dust her face with little kisses. “No, Aerie. No.”
“Last question, but I have to ask. That first night . . .”
“Why did I call her name when your delightful mouth was so generously pleasuring my cock? First, let me apologize again. I can only imagine how upsetting that was for you, although you gave me a good idea as to how angry you were. Second, I’ve given it a lot of thought.”
I grab her pointed little chin and make certain she’s looking at me. “She was never so giving, so unselfish with her body. Even the night she professed her love.
“Since she disappeared, my mind played the scene of her mouth on my cock so many times. Perhaps because I’d imagined a thousand times that she would pleasure me like that her name just popped out. But Aerie, it’s very clear to me now that I never loved her.”
“Good.” She slides her palms behind my neck, her gaze flicking from my eyes to my lips and back again. “You’re going to fuck me, Beast. Or, play with me, although it’s completely slipped my mind as to why we’re not going to fuck. At any rate, you’re going to give me one or two or five screaming orgasms. I, in turn, will make you shout in pleasure. Then we’re going to put our heads together and we’re not going to sleep until we figure out a way to make Mr. Asshole pay.
“And Beast? Forgive me if it sounds super bitchy, but if our plan includes payback for Miss Emmannee our Enemy, so much the better.”